Crossroads
by Higuchimon
Summary: Harry finds himself somewhere in between worlds, with familiar and unfamiliar faces. [not compatible with books six and seven]


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters presented here and am not making any profit off of this whatsoever.  
**Title:** Crossroads  
**Rated:** PG-13  
**Focus:** Harry Potter  
**Word Count:** 6,598  
**Notes:** This is quite obviously is not compatible with **Half-Blood Prince** and **Deathly Hallows**, as it was written before either of those were published. Any similiarities certainly shocked the hell out of me. Comments and criticism gratefully accepted.  
**Summary:** Harry finds himself somewhere in between worlds, with familiar and unfamiliar faces.

* * *

_I'm dead._ There were very few who would have felt the overwhelming rush of relief that came with those two words, but Harry Potter had never been what one would call normal. He wrapped his arms around himself, some part of him marvelling that he felt just as alive as he always had despite _not_ being alive, and rocked back and forth some. _I'm dead. It's over._

The relief seemed to grow every time he repeated that to himself, filling him with the most amazing sense of joy, until he threw his head back and howled at the top of his lungs, "I'm _dead_! It's about time! I'm bloody _dead_!" Echoes bounced back from every direction, and Harry laughed at hearing the sheer bliss in his voice.

He pushed himself to his feet and looked around, wanting to know what the afterlife was like. _Well, so far it looks a lot like the country._ Grass of the deepest green he'd ever seen spread out before him in all directions, with thick groves of trees springing up here and there. The gurgle of a stream of some kind was audible, though he couldn't see it from where he was standing. Birds swept through the sky, calling to each other, and the endless vault of blue they soared through didn't have anything that resembled a cloud in it. He also couldn't see a sun, but there was light coming from _some_where.

Harry hesitated a little as he glanced from one direction to another. He'd heard the Dursleys talking about religion and where you went after you died a few times, but he'd never bothered to find out what the wizarding world thought about such things. _Guess I get to find out first hand._

He'd always been kind of under the impression that any kind of afterlife would have more than just him there, for one thing. A shiver of pleasure at the thought of never again being separated from his parents and Sirius went all through him. _It really __**was**__ my last summer at the Dursleys, too._ He wondered briefly how they'd react to finding out he was dead, then pushed the notion away. Within five minutes of the owl arriving, every trace he'd ever been anywhere within a thousand miles of them would be gone. That was perfectly fine with him, too.

Without anything else to show him what to do, Harry picked a random direction to walk in and got started. He couldn't possibly be the only dead person, he'd seen them scattered all over the place before he'd went down himself, and he was going to find _someone_ to talk to, no matter what.

He set off briskly down the way he'd picked, enjoying the feeling of walking without any pain. It had been a while since he'd felt _that_, or at least it had seemed that way. Having not much else to think about right now, he totted up the months in his mind. It had begun on Halloween of his sixth year, and now it was late June of his seventh, so all in all, it had been nearly two years.

_Wormtail paid for __**that**__ thought._ He didn't even attempt to hide the feral flush of pleasure at just how badly the traitor had paid, either. Professor McGonnagal had denied taking any part of it, but Mrs. Norris, Crookshanks, and the half-grown cat that Ginny had been taking care of had definitely dealt properly with the situation.

Unfortunately, disposing of Wormtail hadn't done anything to change what had been done to Harry himself. _Maybe if Snape were still around, he could._ He shook his head; seven years ago he wouldn't have once considered that he might _want_ his irascible Potions teacher around. Now he'd almost do anything to see him again, if only for a chance to undo the effects of Wormtail's potion. Snape _had_ tried, or said he had anyway, for the few months before his own unfortunate death, to fix things, but without any kind of success at all.

_Wormtail's potion. __**Voldemort's**__ potion._ Pettigrew might've delivered it to him, but there was no way he'd actually made it. Not that it really mattered all that much. The results were the same no matter what.

He hurried through the waving grasses, noting that there wasn't anything like a path or a road here. It was completely untouched by Muggle hands, and probably wizarding ones too. He glanced up to the sky briefly, and shook his head. No one flying up there other than the birds. This was one _lonely_ afterlife.

_Maybe...this __**is**__ supposed to be my idea of eternal bliss._ If it was, he wanted to sit down and have a serious conversation with his subconscious.

As he hurried along, Harry found himself rejoicing in the ability to move freely and without any kind of pain. He was convinced if there had been a Snitch in front of him and his Firebolt underneath him, he would have the wriggling little winged ball in his hand in nothing flat. He could almost feel the shape of it resting firmly between his fingers, and it was all he could do to keep himself from looking down. Expecting it and _not_ seeing it was something he wasn't going to torment himself with.

_I wonder if they have Quidditch teams in the afterlife._ Ron would probably know, if anyone did. Too bad Ron wasn't here to ask. Then again, it was about time Ron shone in his own right, instead of just being 'Harry Potter's best friend'. Fifth year Quidditch had been a start, of course. There was so much more waiting in the wider wizarding world, however, and Ron deserved to have it all.

_I am going to miss him, though. All of them._ The first exhilaration of being dead was wearing off, as Hermione would probably put it, and now Harry remembered what he was leaving behind. _Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the twins...all the Weasleys, really._ Hedwig, Professor McGonnagal, Hogwarts itself, Luna, all of the Order of the Pheonix itself, those who were left at any rate.

The whole wizarding world that he'd found such a home in for the past seven years, really. Yes, it was great to finally to have gotten rid of Voldemort and not to have to worry just how that prophecy was going to come out, but now...now he wasn't going to have the chance to put to use the things he'd learned.

_Come on, Harry! Make up your mind! Are you glad to be dead or not? Either way, does it matter?_ He could almost hear Hermione's sharp, bossy voice in his mind, telling him what he needed to know whether he liked it or not. _You __**are**__ dead, so whatever else has happened, you're going to have to deal with it._

That was the problem with having lost some of those he loved so much, and _not_ having lost them all. If someone had appeared right then and told him that he had to choose to live or die based on which side of things had the most people he cared about, he'd stay stuck in indecision forever.

In an attempt to distract himself from what was going on in his head, Harry took a quick look around. He wasn't too certain just how long he'd been walking, but it must have been a lot longer than he'd thought, since there was now a road just a few steps away from him. "Where the heck did _this_ come from?" He reached instinctively for his wand, and only when his fingers closed on air did he realize he had no idea where it was.

_Guess being dead means not needing a wand anymore._ Part of him really didn't like that fact. _Guess that's something to chalk up to the part about 'not everything about being dead is fantastic'._ He eyed the road again, then shrugged. What could he possibly lose? Roads had to go somewhere, and anywhere was as good as here.

The second he stepped on the road, there was some kind of sparkle in the air. It had been clear and fresh enough before, but now it took on some kind of extra quality, something that was impossible for him to name. Harry breathed in deeply, noting the scent of flowers and fragrance of mixed spring and summer all around as he did so. This place seemed to be getting better and better by the moment.

He glanced behind him for a moment, seeing the road go twining off into the distance until it faded from sight. Looking ahead of him, it did the same thing, winding through meadows, fields of flowers, plains, and what looked like mountains along the horizon. The sight of those mountains tugged at his heart a little.

_They look like the mountains around Hogwarts. Guess that's as good a sign as any._ He snickered softly to himself at the thought of how Trelawney probably would've _loved_ to hear him thinking about signs and portents. Too bad her small gift of Sight hadn't been enough to prevent her own death. Part of him would dearly have loved to have had her around now that Voldemort was gone forever, just so he could tell her once and for all it was time to stop saying he was going to die every day of the week.

* * *

There was no way for him to keep track of time here, but Harry was fairly certain that it was several hours later when the road finally led him to the base of the mountains. He hadn't had to stop for anything like rest or food, and he felt just as fresh as he had when he'd first become aware of where he was.

These mountains weren't the only place that the road had let him to, however. It stopped at the door of a mansion, the likes of which he couldn't remember ever having seen before. _It __**does**__ look a little familiar, though. Maybe I saw a picture of it?_

He stared at it a little more, then shook his head. He'd figure it out later. First things first: finding out who lived here.

"Hey!" He called out as he came closer to the door. "Is anyone in there?"

Almost at once he heard a familiar bark, and shook his head. _I'm hearing things. There's no ..what, there __**is**__ a way!_ He'd almost forgotten where he was! Without even thinking about it, he ran for the door and threw it open, rushing inside. "Sirius??"

A huge black dog ran towards him, shifting into the form of a tall black-haired man a few moments before wrapping his arms around Harry in a hug. "Harry!"

Hugging and babbling on both sides took up several moments before a polite voice interrupted them. "I realize it's been two years since you saw each other, but you're not the only one who misses him, Sirius."

"Sorry, sir," Sirius stepped back, only a very little abashed, and Harry's eyes went wide at the sight of Albus Dumbledore, seated at a table with several other people Harry hadn't seen in quite a while. Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Sybill Trelawney, Cedric Diggory, and some strange woman that looked just vaguely familiar. "I suppose I should know better."

A warm laugh issued from above, and two sets of footsteps came down a staircase. "You're never going to learn any better, Padfoot."

"Like you ever did, Prongs."

Harry froze in place as two people came down off of the steps. One was a beautiful redheaded woman with the kindest eyes he'd ever seen, and the other was...was...thought failed him completely. He'd heard most of his life about how he looked just like his father except for having his mother's eyes, but until this moment he'd never truly _seen_ his father except in memories and reflections.

James and Lily Potter stood there, both looking at the son they'd never been able to see until he stood before them now. There was a respectful sort of hush in the room, then a dark-haired body flung itself across the intervening distance, and a family that had long been apart was finally reunited.

"Mum...Dad..." Harry whispered softly, his arms going around both of them. "It's really you."

Lily ran a hand gently across her son's hair and smiled. "We've missed you, Harry. More than you can imagine, I think."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Mum." Harry looked up at her. "I had to live with the _Dursleys._"

His mother smiled ever so faintly. "That's something you'll never have to do again, no matter where you go from here."

"No matter where I go?" This was not quite what he'd expected to hear. "Mum, I'm _dead_, there's not that many places I _can_ go. Travel options are limited."

A familiar throat was cleared behind him. "If I may interrupt the cloying moment; there are more important things to do than quibble over Potter's fate."

"Like you ever needed permission to interrupt, Snivellus," Sirius growled, shooting a look at Snape. The Potions Master's hands clenched briefly, but whatever sharp retorts were going to be issued never were as Remus leaned forward.

"Could the two of you please stop fighting for _ten minutes_? You can't even have the satisfaction of killing each other anymore, so just...be quiet," The werewolf requested, tugging Sirius down to a chair beside him at the same time.

Sirius grumbled and Sirius pouted in a way that didn't become a man in his thirties, but in the end, Sirius sat down and behaved himself.

Harry shook his head; he had never once doubted that Sirius and Snape would let something as trivial as _death_ get in the way of their animosity. Part of him hoped that he wouldn't also see a replay of the fights his father had 'enjoyed' with Snape, though. Being dead should get you some kind of peace. Especially since Snape's last moments, as far as he knew, had been incredibly painful before the _Avada Kedavara_ that had finished him off.

"As I was saying," Snape pinned Harry with his eyes alone, as he had so many times in class. "You, Mr. Potter, are _not_ dead. Not as we are." His long fingers flicked briefly around the room to indicate everyone there. "You are at what might be termed a crossroads."

The young wizard groaned out loud. "I'm not going to have to make one of those 'decisions' to live or die, am I?" He was _tired_ of having to make choices like that, for himself or for anyone else. _Not to say I want someone else to do this for me, but I just don't want to have to __**do**__ it._

"No, you are not. You _are_ alive." Snape sneered in that so familiar fashion. "You are simply not currently in your body. For some reason, no doubt the bending of the rules that all of your clan seem to do so easily," his eyes flicked ever so briefly to James, "we were all brought together to meet with you."

Dumbledore nodded slightly at Snape's words, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "I myself believe it is because there are things we all want to say to you, if it is only 'good-bye' in a more personal fashion than before. We both know that there are far more who passed on during this war than those of us here, but most have their own afterlives to be getting along with."

"Where _is_ this place?" Harry tried not to think too much about what his Headmaster had just said and looked around the room. Ever since he'd come in, he'd felt something he hadn't anywhere else, not even when he was at the Burrow. It was _closest_ to what he felt when he was there, but it wasn't quite it. _I feel like I'm __**home**__._ That was the only word that came close, and he knew exactly how little sense that made.

James shrugged briefly. "I don't know where it is, but I know what it looks like." At his son's questioning gaze, the elder Potter continued. "It _looks_ like the home we had in Godric's Hollow before that last night."

Harry was entirely certain at that point that nothing had ever surprised him so much. No wonder it felt like home! In any way that counted, it _was_.

"If we could continue with this, I would be most pleased. I was enjoying myself before I was pulled away for this little reunion, and I'd like to get back to it." Snape's dry voice slid through the air. "If all of you have something to say to him, then get along with it."

Remus turned slightly to look at the Slytherin. "If we're here because we have something to tell him, then that means _you_ have something to say as well, Severus. Why don't you show us how it's done and begin?"

Snape's fingers tightened over the wand that seemed to have appeared in his hands in a heartbeat. Harry noticed in the back of his mind that the evidence of the torture he'd been put through after his duplicity in Voldemort's ranks had been discovered was completely gone here. Apparently in the afterlife, you didn't have to worry about such things as pain. It explained how _he_ felt, at least, and why Lupin didn't look as if he'd suffered poisoning by some of the deadliest venoms known to wizard kind. "Perhaps later. I have more patience than certain others around here." If he looked a bit more at Sirius, no one who noticed said anything about it.

"Perhaps _I_ should begin." Dumbledore stroked his beard briefly as Harry turned to look at him. "I am assuming by your presence, and the joy you've shown, that the measures we took worked and Voldemort is no more?"

"You're right." Harry tried not to, but he couldn't help but think about the complete look of disbelief that had been on Voldemort's face when the Sword of Godric Gryffindor had sliced into him. It had been the look of a bully who had finally been beaten and couldn't deny it any longer.

There was a sort of confused silence in the wake of what Harry said, and it was James who broke it. "Just what kind of _measures_ do you mean?"

"That is rather complicated to explain." Albus began, a distant look to his blue eyes. "The spells that Tom wove about himself to keep from dying were quite complicated and it took something equally complicated to break through them all."

"Charms like that usually are." Lily commented dryly. "What kind of complicated things did you have to do to break them?"

Albus was about to answer when Harry broke through. "He killed himself."

Complete silence reigned once more, as everyone stared at the Headmaster they'd known so long. James shook his head slowly. "Harry, what are you talking about? Albus wouldn't do something like that."

"On the contrary, that is _exactly_ what I did." Dumbledore corrected mildly. "The spells that kept Tom alive were based on tearing the unwilling life from others and feeding him with their power. To break those spells, a weapon of power had to be used that was imbued with the blood of a wizard or witch who gave it willingly."

Harry took up the thread of the story as the older wizard paused, apparently in thought. "We'd been working on it with Professor Flitwick for months, ever since my seventh year began. We had everything we needed done except for that last thing: the blood. There wasn't anyone we could even consider asking to do this. The more blood that was given, the more chances there would be that it would actually kill him forever. He wouldn't even _let_ me consider doing it myself."

"As well he shouldn't!" Sirius huffed indignantly. "I'm surprised you even thought about it!"

His godson glanced over at him, one eyebrow quirked. "You mean that's not the kind of risk my father would've taken?"

Sirius flinched back quite visibly at that, shame flickering through his eyes. "That's not what I meant. That time, I..." he trailed off, looking over at his best friend, who was looking back at him. "We're going to talk about this a lot, aren't we, Prongs?"

"You have _no_ idea."

"If no one _minds_!" Harry snapped irritably, then flushed as his parents and godfather all turned to look at him. "I wasn't done yet, anyway."

Lily chuckled softly. "Go on, then, dear. What happened?"

Harry thought for a few moments, reconstructing things in his mind before saying anything else. "This was just a few weeks ago. We were still trying to figure out how to get that blood on the sword. There wasn't anyone we could really _ask_, either. So we decided just to leave it until we could think of something else that might help."

"Apparently things did not quite work out as planned?" Remus suggested mildly. Harry snorted.

"That's one way to put it. I came back in there the next morning and there was _his_ body laying there, with his blood all over the sword, and a note." He closed his eyes and recited it from memory. "_I do this of my own will, to save us all. And I've heard that there are amazing Chocolate Frogs on the other side, so I'm going to find out. Good luck, Harry. Signed, Albus Dumbledore._"

Five heartbeats passed, and Harry found himself counting every one of them, before anything like a sound was made. Sirius stared over at Dumbledore, then laughed, pounding one fist on the table. "You killed yourself to _find out what the candy's like over here??_"

"I was curious. I also knew that Harry needed the help only the blood of someone willing could give, and the more powerful the wizard's blood, the better." Dumbledore smiled ever so faintly. "It was quite worth it, for the salvation of our world."

"Oh, admit it, Albus. You just did it for the Frogs." James teased him, eyes dancing in amusement.

The Headmaster's smile was the only answer he gave at all, before catching Harry's eyes. "Harry, my boy. What I wish to tell you is this: the prophecy decreed only one portion of your life. What you do from this point on is entirely up to you." He looked briefly over at Sibyll Trelawney. "As we all well know." The former Divination teacher didn't so much as bat an eye to indicate she'd heard, but she did smile a little bit at Harry.

"Dear boy," she leaned closer towards him, that same smile he'd seen on her a thousand times during the years he'd taken her class. "What I would like to tell you is this: thank you for proving I _wasn't_ always the fake I know you all thought I was."

Harry blinked twice; he'd never heard her sound so serious or sensible in all the time he'd known her. For once, she sounded as if she had a brain! The only sound that seemed capable of making it's way out of his mouth was, "Um..."

"I suppose you feel like I'm responsible for what happened to you in life," Trelawney continued in that same unusual tone. "I can't blame you, or anyone else. The Sight has that burden, no matter if you're hearing it or seeing it or just living it. Once you have an idea of what's to come, many people try to prevent it." She paused again thoughtfully. "No one knows if it can be prevented, however. What some people have thought was prevention was only...fulfillment."

Trelawney met Harry's eyes firmly then, and for once he truly felt as if she knew more than he did about what was to come. "I can't See anything for you now, but I _know_ you're going to do well for yourself. You always have." Her lips twitched in amusement. "Who knows, you _might_ even become Minister of Magic for real."

Both of them grinned at each other, remembering when she'd proclaimed that during Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts, just to irritate the small-minded old bat.

"If you don't mind," Cedric sat up a little more. "I'd like to be next."

Harry nodded slightly, feeling the twinge of guilt he always had whenever Cedric was mentioned. In three years it had lessened, but now that he was looking once more at the original Hogwarts champion, he remembered it all.

"Harry, what I want to say is...well, really, it's _thank you_." The Hufflepuff grinned at the younger boy. "You're going to hear that a lot, from everyone here and then when you get back to Hogwarts. I want to thank you for helping Cho when you could, and for getting my body back to my parents. I really _was_ happy when it happened, and if I had to pick a way to die, making certain it helped to give _you_ the strength to do what you had to do would be really close to the top of the list."

Harry stayed where he was, a thousand things coming to his lips, but none of them making it out past them. What Cedric said rang somehow both right and wrong in his mind, and he couldn't decide which one it was. _He was just killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time! How can he be __**glad**__ about that?_ It struggled in him, and before he knew it, exactly those words burst out of him.

Cedric just smiled as they did, though. "You're right. It was the wrong place and the wrong time. But it was for the _right_ reasons. It had a purpose in the long run, just like all of our deaths did." He glanced around the group, but his gaze seemed to slide a bit off of the unnamed woman, who looked down at the same time, a hint of shame flickering across her face.

"Son, what I think Cedric is trying to say is that we gave you a reason to fight. More than just to fulfill a prophecy or save a world," Lily turned Harry's head so he would look at her. "Why did you want to destroy Voldemort?"

He stared into his mother's eyes, his thoughts still raging about. It was a question he'd asked himself a thousand times over, and at the very bottom of it all, there was only one answer. "Because if I didn't, if he wasn't stopped somehow, then there'd be more deaths like yours. I couldn't live _or_ die knowing that I could've done something about it and didn't." He clenched his fists, eyes suddenly blazing. "It's not right and it's not fair that I should've had to live with the _Dursleys_ and put up with everything I did for seven years just to get rid of _one_ person! I never asked for it! I never _wanted_ it!"

"None of us wanted any of this," James touched his son's shoulder for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something else, but the words were refusing to come. Harry stared up at him, then shook his head sadly.

"I know." Words failed him almost as surely as they did his father in this moment. "I know, Dad."

"Harry," Sirius inched forward. "I guess the only thing I really have to say is good-bye. I didn't get a chance to say it before, but I'm very proud of you. The only thing that I ever minded about dying was not being there to help you later."

Harry squirmed away from his parents and took a couple of quick steps towards Sirius. "I've missed you ever since then," the words sounded weak and hollow even as he said them, but there was nothing else that he really could say. "You were the next thing to a dad I had." A very wan grin found its way to his face. "It was fun telling the Dursleys you'd get them if they hurt me, too." The grin widened as he heard his father snickering behind him, and saw Sirius' own answering smirk.

Lupin coughed politely, his eyes gleaming in amusement at his friends' antics. "You did very well, Harry. Keep up the good work. Voldemort _was_ the most powerful evil wizard of this time, but there could be others coming. There probably will be. You might not be prophesied to defeat them all, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"I'd like to kind of have a life of some kind before I go into stopping more dark wizards," Harry told him. Lupin just nodded in agreement as he leaned back in his chair.

"Were you ever able to find an antidote to your problem?" The werewolf asked curiously. The simple question caused quite a few eyes to focus on Harry, sending him squirming.

"Problem?" Sirius shot a look at his old friend, then looked back at his godson. "Just what problem are you talking about?"

Harry ground his teeth briefly; he hadn't wanted to think about it anymore since arriving here. "No, I haven't. The new Potions Master couldn't find anything that would reverse it either."

"I would have been quite surprised if they did," Snape snorted. "If _I_ could find no antidote, I highly doubt there _is_ one."

Lily looked from one of them to the other, her eyes sparking in irritation and demanding an explanation without having to utter so much as a word. Harry sagged down into the nearest chair, feeling a twinge of pain in the bones he wasn't even certain if he had just at the memory.

"Halloween of my sixth year, Wormtail managed to get into Hogsmeade. Ron and I were at the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Hermione. We found out most of this afterwards, but Wormtail polyjuiced himself into Madam Rosmerta. It was just for an hour, but it was all he needed. He put something into my drink, and like the idiot I am, I drank it all."

James tossed his head as if he were tossing his Animagus' form's antlers at the mention of his former friend and betrayer. "Exactly what did he put into it?"

"It is something that has only been seen a few times since the Founders built Hogwarts," Snape answered the question. "The Anti-Healing Solution. It integrates itself with a wizard's magic, and acts to protect the wizard against all magic used to heal them. In words you might understand, Mr. Potter can never be healed by magic again. Any injuries or illnesses he suffers will have to be healed by Muggle means, or not at all."

Harry shuddered just at the thought, a flash of one of the times he'd been held captive by the Death Eaters going through his mind. It had taken him _months_ to heal from what they'd done, and he still hurt from some of it. _I don't think I appreciated Madam Pomfrey until she couldn't help me anymore._ "He wanted to make certain that any damage he did to me, it wasn't wiped away with the wave of a wand."

Before another word could be spoken, Harry found himself wrapped up in his mother's arms once more, and she was babbling in his ear, too fast for him to actually hear what she was saying. He was fairly certain he knew the spiel anyway. Molly Weasley had given him the same speech when the large wizarding family had found out about his 'disability'. Mothers tended to be alike in this kind of situation.

"And there's nothing that can reverse it or anything?" James wondered. "Nothing at all?"

"By the very nature of the potion, no." Albus told him. "It prevents any and all magic that would benefit the victim's physical health in any way, including protecting itself from being disposed of. It is an unbelievably foul potion."

"It's a lot worse when you live with it." Harry muttered. He didn't really want to tell any of them that he'd found out a side effect of the potion that none of the books that mentioned it had ever said anything about: that even the normal healing of time was delayed by the venomous thing running around in his veins. It was one of the reason he could hardly remember what it felt like not to move in _some_ kind of pain.

"You have my sympathies." The unidentified woman spoke for the first time. "I can't help but feel responsible for this, no matter how often I'm told he made his own choices."

Harry had been confused quite a few times in his life, but never more than he was just at that moment. "Excuse me, but who are you? I don't remember ever meeting you before."

"Because you haven't," her fingers twiddled a little as she stared down at them. "But you have met my son." Harry glanced around the group, but she didn't really look like any of them. There was a _vague_ familiarity about her, though. "My son is, or was, Tom Marvolo Riddle: Lord Voldemort."

Harry shook his head a couple of times; he _had_ to have misheard that somehow. "I thought you just said you were Voldemort's mother."

"I did." She still didn't look at him. "My name is Violet Riddle. I've wanted to meet you ever since I first heard of what my son was doing and that there would be someone who would stop him." She lifted her head a little, and the first thing he noticed was the deep regret in her eyes. "I believe apologizing would be rather silly, since there was nothing I could do to prevent my death or what my son became, but as I said, I often feel as if the responsibility for all that he's done is mine."

"There's enough blame being thrown around," James interjected, and Harry noted his father didn't seem to be bothered by being in the same room with the mother of the man who had killed him. "You said it yourself, Violet, he made his own choices. Maybe if you'd been alive, you could've helped him make different ones, but that wasn't under your control."

He looked back at Harry, who found himself nodding in agreement. The woman smiled faintly. "I wish you luck in your future life, Harry. You, more than anyone, have earned a rest." She stood up, determination filling her expression. "And now I believe I have a long over-due meeting with my son to get to. His afterlife will not be _nearly_ as pleasant as I'm certain he hopes it to be, and if he hoped for a reunion with his dear mother..." Something in the gleam of her eyes told Harry that _this_ Slytherin was someone he'd dearly love to have on his side. Instead of walking out the door to go on to deal with her son, Voldemort's mother simply faded away into nothingness.

"I believe that your time here is drawing to a close, Mr. Potter." Snape stood up, robes billowing around him. "I myself have but one thing to say to you." His gaze bored down into Harry from his greater height, and the words almost seemed to be dragged out of him by some force. "Inform Professor McGonnagal that you passed Potions...barely."

Harry tried not to laugh at the solemn tone, especially since he was convinced that Snape would find _some_ way to remove points from Gryffindor, even from beyond the grave. Though technically he supposed that the new Potions teacher would be the one to say if he passed or not. Not that he planned on telling _Snape_ that, of course. All he said in response was, "I'll tell her."

"We miss you, Harry," his mother clasped him in her arms ever so gently. "We're so proud of you."

"That's an understatement," James wrapped his arms around both his wife and his son. "Both of them. Just take care of yourself, Harry. That's an order."

"I got it, dad." Harry grinned up at his father, then looked at the others. "Thanks, everyone. I guess I'll see you all again, some day."

Sirius grinned wildly at him. "It better not be _too_ soon. I'm counting on you to do one more thing for me, Harry."

"What's that?"

"Find my old motorcycle and get it working again. It's my gift to you for the last couple of birthdays I missed." As Sirius came over, Lily and James stepped back to let him hug Harry once more. "Take care of yourself, and your friends." His grin suddenly turned feral and wild. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go harass Wormtail some more. He needs it after what he did to you."

As the great black dog bounded out of sight, Harry could only grin. Sirius was _never_ going to change, come life or death. It felt good to know that something like that could be counted on.

"It's time for you to go, Harry." Dumbledore said quietly. "You're going to be waking up soon."

Harry looked over at the Headmaster, then something occurred to him. "Am I going to remember any of this?"

"I don't know." Dumbledore smiled. "Why don't you tell us once you come back here...in about a hundred years or so?"

The Boy Who Lived, who had grown up into the Man Who Won, grinned. He knew he was going back to living with pain that would never cease, living with having to rebuild a world that needed to go through a lot of changes and wouldn't like most of them, and so much more that he couldn't even begin to think about. But for the first time since he'd opened his eyes in this strange place, he was looking forward to it.

"Harry? Harry? Come on, wake up. You've been out of it long enough." The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it at first. He definitely wanted to go talk to whoever it was, though.

"Good-bye, Harry," Lily called out, holding onto James. "Take care of yourself. Both of you!"

"Both of us?" Harry shook his head; something seemed to be wrong with him. Some sort of gray fog was spinning around, inside _and_ outside. Already it had blocked his view of the others who hadn't yet left, and now he thought he was hearing things! "What do you mean?"

His mother's smile made it through, bright and shining. "I can't tell you! Just take care of yourselves! I love you!"

Harry waved his hand, trying to cut through the fog to no avail. "I love you, too! Mum! Dad! I love you!" The fog whirled around him, pulling him away, back to a castle hidden by spells and to a room where someone sat beside a bed, calling to him. As the place of the crossroads faded, and his awareness began to fade with it, going back to the coma he had been in, he found a smile inside. It wasn't so bad to be leaving them. He knew he'd be back one day, and this time, he'd take a different path at the crossroads. No matter where he was, he'd be home. His heart had always lain with his friends, once he had them, and he had friends on both sides of life and death. He'd done what he was meant to do. Now he was going to do what he _wanted_ to do.

He was going to live. _I'm alive._

**The End**


End file.
